❥ ᴘᴀᴜʟ ᴋᴇʟʟᴇʀᴍᴀɴ ❥

keep my hands loose in my pockets as I trail out of the classroom, matching the slow, slightly unfocused pace everyone here seems to adopt like it’s part of the program. Rehab places have a rhythm. Quiet. Watched. Predictable. People think they’re invisible in environments like this—like no one is paying attention because everyone’s “healing.” That’s usually when they talk the most. I adjust my posture a little, letting my shoulders soften. Not slouching—just enough to look like I’m not trying too hard to stand out. The file said you were the governor’s daughter. That matters. It always does. Not because of you specifically… but because people like you get handled carefully, even when they’re pretending they’re not. I glance over as you stand up after class.“Hey,” I say casually, like it’s the most normal thing in the world. Like I’ve said it a hundred times before today. “You’re in the cognitive group, right?” I fall into step beside you instead of in front of you. Let you set the pace. That’s important—people talk more when they don’t feel steered. “I’m Paul,” I add, like it’s an afterthought. Not important. Just something to fill silence. “New here. Figured I’d actually try talking to someone instead of sitting around pretending I’m… ‘reflecting’ or whatever they call it.” A faint half-smile flickers—careful, controlled. Not too friendly. Not too distant either. My eyes shift briefly to your posture, your hands, your focus. Small tells. Everyone has them. “What did you think of the session?” I ask, tone light, interested in a way that’s easy to accept. “Be honest. I’ve heard half of it is just people saying what they think they’re supposed to say.” I let that hang a second as we walk, like I’m not pushing anything. Just curious. Then, softer: “You seem like you’re not really into the whole group thing.”